


Shards

by Sylvia Knight (Gayle)



Series: Descending Horizon [1]
Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1989-01-01
Updated: 1989-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-03 13:40:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gayle/pseuds/Sylvia%20Knight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Young Avon's childhood takes a drastic turn when his parents, uncle and sister are murdered by Federation troops right before his eyes." </p><p>Previously published in the zine Resistance #3. Prequel to Descending Horizon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shards

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][] KERR [][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Rav wasn't allowed home and Kerr still didn't know why.  But his sister, Lyssa, was back from school.  She had made father promise he could stay up as late as he wanted and he wanted to stay up all night long.  He'd put the crown of roses on Lyssa's head.  The flowers were all cold from the refrigeration unit.  That had been funny, seeing them sitting there in their transparent plastibox.  But they were beautiful on Lyssa, the white roses woven with pearls and diamonds and iridescent ribbons that trailed down her back, almost as long as her long black hair.  Father looked like a king, all in gold.  It was all beginning, the house was filling up with people, with magic.  He was giddy with excitement.  It was dazzling, overwhelming.  There was too much to see....

"The tower!  From the tower I can see everything!"

He ran, his cape flying out behind him, down the wide terrace steps, through the garden strung with lanterns, into the moon-lit blackness of the wood.  The old tower rose up in the clearing, its stones black against the black-veiled blue of the sky.  There were stars everywhere and the moon gleamed silver bright, curved and pointed as a sword.  As he ran forward, another shape rose up, small beside the tower, but big, bigger by far than he was.  He stopped, staring as the shape moved, came toward him.

It was a bear.  A brown bear, huge and fierce, with wicked claws and sharp, shining teeth.

The bear growled, pounced on him, lifted him up in it's monster paws.  He stared at it, speechless with terror and delight.  It pulled him to it's chest in a crushing bear hug.  "How's my little namesake?" asked the bear.

"Uncle Kerr!" he crowed.  Then he frowned, and squirmed down.  "You promised to come to my birthday."

Promises should be kept.  Kerr always kept his promises.  Though he had already learned not everybody did.

The paw touched his cheek.  "I couldn't get here, little Kerr.  Something I couldn't help.  But I'm only a few days late.  And I'm here now, for this party."

"All Hallow's Eve," he pronounced.  "It's a very old celebration, old as the tower.  Centuries and centuries."

"That old?"  His uncle was amazed.

"Older.  Pre-atomic."  He really should forgive Uncle Kerr.  He _was_ here now, at the best place of all, the tower, and all around them was the fabulous night, shining with torches and colored lights, filled with demons and devils, priests and pirates, frogs and fairy princesses.  That's what Lyssa was, a princess, with her crown of rare white roses and her white dress all filmy and floating, the sleeves trailing behind her like wings.  Kerr thought she looked beautiful, but father hadn't liked the dress.  He'd said white was "hardly appropriate", his lips, his voice thin and sharp.  But Lyssa had held Kerr's hand tightly and not cried....

"I'm sorry if you missed me on your birthday," his uncle said, raising his chin.  "I love you, little Kerr.  Very much."

Kerr squirmed a little, uncomfortable and a little frightened by the tone.  He wasn't sure men were supposed to make such declarations.  His father never did.  His father had never hugged him like that.  No one but Uncle Kerr gave such wonderful hugs.  Not even Lyssa.

"You know that, don't you?" his uncle insisted.

Kerr nodded, "You love everybody," he accused.

His uncle laughed.  "I try to."

Kerr wanted to be loved best.

"Did you bring me a present?"  Kerr suspected he had forgotten.

Uncle Kerr hesitated, then took off the bear head.  "This is special to me.  A treasure...a treasure of gold and love and luck.  I would only give it to someone very, very special."  He reached around his neck and removed the small medallion he always wore  Carefully, he put it around Kerr's neck.  "Will you promise me you'll always wear it?"

"Yes," he whispered.  Uncle Kerr had forgotten, but he had made a special sacrifice to make up for it.

"I love you too, Uncle Kerr.  Best of all."  He wasn't sure he should.  Uncle Kerr would appear and then vanish again.  He never seemed to be there when you wanted him, but when he was he always did just the right thing.  He always _understood_.

"Best of all?" Uncle Kerr asked, and his voice sounded sad.  But when Kerr nodded he hugged him again, and Kerr hugged back.  The bear fur tickled his nose and had a funny, musty smell all mixed up with Uncle Kerr smell.

"Kerr?  Kerr!"  It was his father's voice calling.

"Here, father, here!  Guess who...."

But Uncle Kerr laid his fingers across his lips.  "Let's just wait, shall we," he said quietly and Kerr, baffled, stood beside him, his uncle's hand heavy on his shoulder.

"Kerr," his father said, coming through the trees, "you should...."

"Hello, Lorn,"  Uncle Kerr said.

His father stalked into the clearing.  "You damned fool!" he swore, then looked down at Kerr.  "You get back to the party."

"Yes, father," he said.  No one argued with his father.  He ran through the trees a little ways then slowed down.  The party, after all, was everywhere.  He circled back until he could hear their voices, see them clearly from behind the trunk of the old oak.

"What the hell are you doing here?" his father was yelling.  "You and your insane rebel politics will get us all killed!"

"I need your help, Lorn.  There's no one else."  Then, with quick concern, "Didn't you get my note?"

"Note?  No, I didn't get any note."

There was an awful silence then, and they just stood, his father and his uncle, staring at each other.  Suddenly, they embraced, their arms tight around each other, and that frightened Kerr more than all the rest of it.

For a moment, there was only the sound of his own heart thudding in his chest.  Then from the house, there was shouting, screaming, sharp noises, loud as fireworks, exploding in the air.  Through the trees he could see a swarm of black figures running down the terrace steps.

"You've got to get out of here, Kerr, now.  Now!" his father said, pushing Uncle Kerr away.

But it was too late.  More black figures emerged from the wood from all directions at once, circling his father and uncle.  The black bodies had no faces, just shiny black helmets, like insects, awful black beetles.  They had guns, like he had seen on the vidcasts, and all the guns pointed into the center of the circle.  His father and uncle both raised their hands above their heads.

"He has no part of this," his uncle said.  "he didn't want me here.  Didn't know I was coming."

"Father!  Father!"  It was Lyssa calling, her voice full of terror.  Kerr could see her weaving through the woods, the black figures swarming behind her.

"Lyssa, stop!  Go back...go back...."

There was a sound overhead, a hissing noise.  Kerr looked up.  A skeleton stood above him in the branches of the tree.  It glowed, a phosphorescent green-white against the night sky.

"Father!"  Lyssa didn't stop, she ran towards them, her white dress fluttering about her like moth wings.  Then brightness exploded behind her and she was all orange, all fire, screaming as she ran, fell, rolling on the ground.

"No...!" his father wailed, starting forward, his hands outstretched.  The guns fired and he staggered, clutching his chest, darkness pouring between his hands.  He toppled forward onto the grass.

"Bastard!  Bastards!" his uncle cried out, his teeth gritted.  And they shot him too, over and over, the shots spinning him about, screaming, until he toppled and lay still.

The skeleton leapt down from the tree, landed beside him.  Death.  They were dead, all dead.  And he was going to die too.  Kerr ran from the skeleton...but then he was in the clearing, and death was everywhere there.  He tripped and fell to the grass.  His father's face stared at him, the eyes fixed and glassy.  He turned away, but there was Uncle Kerr, and he had no face at all, only the inside of a face, with blood all over.  The bear head lay to one side, teeth bared in a snarl.

Kerr struggled to his feet.  There was a terrible choked lump in his chest.  He pressed his fist against it.  He felt something against his hand...his uncle's medallion. 'You'll get us all killed,' his father's voice echoed in his mind, 'get us all killed....'  He looked up and the Federation troops had surrounded him, closed in the circle, their blackness filling the night.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][] JOBAN [][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

White bones luminous on black, the skeleton stood in the doorway.

 _Juvenile theatrics,_ Captain Joban thought with distaste.  He laid his report aside and leaned back, breathing the rich scent of the leather chair, the antique, leather bound books in the Avon family library.  With a face schooled to imperviousness, he studied the figure posed before him.  This raid would be a major coup in his career.  His own star was ascending and he felt more uneasy than he would like to admit at the thought of this aristocratic young crimmo rising swiftly in its wake.

The skeleton stripped off its skull face, revealing first the sleek blond hair, then the haughty countenance, etched sharply now with anger.  Rav Avon crossed the room to the desk, leaned across it.  "She wasn't supposed to die."

Joban felt a betraying flush, two patches of color high on his cheeks.  He was sorry about the daughter.  It was definitely a waste.  A lovely young thing...an innocent.  But the incident was one of the bloody, unavoidable follies of military action.  "It was an accident.  An overzealous recruit...a new weapon."

"A recruit who, in his zeal, could not resist immolating a fifteen year old girl?"

"He will be severely disciplined."

"Severely disciplined?" Rav sneered contemptuously.  "I suppose I should consider myself lucky that my brother wasn't slaughtered as well."

Rav Avon should consider himself lucky that the upper echelons had not decreed the entire family be killed as an object lesson.  The old money lines were out of favor with the new president and his entourage.  They were contenting themselves with claiming the estate.  Rav had expected to inherit it.  More fool he...not half as clever as he thought himself.  Still, he was young yet, less than twenty.  Joban had to admit, however grudgingly, that he had the makings of a major strategist - if his ego did not get the better of his judgment.  He already had more than one friend in the high council, where his charm and, Joban suspected, his sexual adroitness, had won him favor.  Their influence was the main reason that Rav had not conveniently died with his father and uncle.  Dvorak had even wanted to give Rav the estate, though the Federation had made no explicit promise to the boy.

Joban decided to ignore Rav's last statement and counterattack with his main offensive.  The majority of the cultivated lands outside the domes were controlled by the old families.  The new regime hoped to change that.  He assumed his most official posture and voice, severe and pompous.  "It is my duty to inform you that this property is to be confiscated by the Federation.  As you are aware, this is standard procedure in the case of treason."

The young whelp was livid.  This news upset him far more than the death of the girl.  Joban felt quite content in loathing him.  He was used to deceit and hypocrisy, skilled in them, as in many other weapons, both physical and psychological.  But, despite his skill, his talent, they were things he saw as separate from himself.  But perhaps that was the ultimate hypocrisy....

Exercising tight control, Rav pulled up a chair and sat down, preparing to argue the point.  Surely he must realize it was pointless?  The decision had been made.

"Since my father was not a traitor, it should be simple enough to vindicate him.  He was simply another unfortunate victim - like my sister."

The boy knew what stung, but Joban had his own hidden stinger.  "That would hardly be in your own best interest.  Exonerating your father would validate his will, and his will explicitly disinherits you.  Your family lawyer informs me you would have no interest in challenging this clause, even if it could be broken legally."

This last suggestion had been thoroughly offensive to the attorney's pride.  The man was old school and, more important, highly connected.  He could not be bribed or pressured to reveal whatever damaging information he held - Theft?  Bastardy? - nor had the documentation been placed in his office or home safe.  The knowledge was not worth a more extensive search, much as Joban would have liked to have possession of it.  Judging from the wary look in Rav Avon's eyes, the lawyer's assessment was correct.  Joban decided to return to the central issue.

"The seizure of this estate will be an object lesson to the aristocracy.  Family loyalty is admirable, but not when it supersedes loyalty to the Federation.  It cannot support rebels such as your uncle - or even appear to do so.  Naturally, the Federation is grateful for your assistance in subduing a dangerous criminal element.  However, the worth of the information you contributed is questionable.  Your uncle's revolutionary network had already been destroyed by our agents.  He was a desperate man, and desperate men make mistakes.  Our spies would have kept a surveillance on this event in any case, as Kerr Avon was know to be close to his brother emotionally, if not politically.  In all likelihood, we would have captured him ourselves.

"In all likelihood you would have botched the operation, as you botched the original capture attempt.  You had no connections within this household, as I have.  The note I acquired provided proof positive that my uncle would be at this party, and I deduced the location, unnamed in the note, that he would choose for the rendezvous.  It was at my instigation that this raid took place, I determined its success.  For which you violate the agreement and murder my sister."

"And assassinated your father, as per request."

"An act which proves to be for your own benefit rather than mine."

"Not entirely."  Joban paused significantly.   "There is your mother's fortune, which was left in trust for her three children, with your father as executor.  The most minor allotment was made for you, on the presumption that you, the eldest son, would inherit the estate and revenues. The Federation will generously allow the surviving children to retain this separate inheritance, and you will be in the position of executor - in control of all the monies intended for you, your sister, and your brother."




"Generously?" Rav mocked.

"There is also the matter of the Federation reward for your uncle's capture, dead or alive.  You will receive double the stated amount.  The combined sum of this and your mother's estate...."

"Is a pitiful fraction of the value of my family's holdings."

"...is an impressive sum, one which will enable you - and your brother - to live in comfort for the rest of your lives."  Or for Rav Avon to burn up in luxury and high living in a decade or less.  He already had a reputation for reckless gambling.

"When will this generous offering be available to me?" Rav asked sullenly.

"The Federation will deposit the reward in your account tomorrow, and all legal transfers of the inheritance will be completed within the month.  The Federation will offer any reasonable assistance in establishing a new life for yourself."

"What about the rest of it?"

"As for your other request, presuming you complete your university degree with suitable marks, you will be recommended for the psychostrategists program.  While certain candidates of promise, such as yourself, are sponsored, the majority of the recruits are chosen by the strategists themselves.  How well you do once you enter their fold will depend entirely on your own efforts and abilities, not any outside connections, however influential."  The puppeteers were a dangerous commodity, but too much interference with their inner workings would defeat their very purpose.

"Very well."

Aquiesence at last.  Given his own role in this affair, any other response was suicide, but it was as well he chose to co-operate himself.  Joban studied him as he sat slouched the chair, withdrawn into himself, re-evaluating his situation, his possibilities.

"Where is my brother?" he asked abruptly.

"He was hysterical, understandably, and had to be sedated.  He's asleep in the servant's quarters, under guard."  It couldn't be helped, but Joban did pity the young one.  He had a son the same age, rather timid unfortunately.  This child was a fierce little thing - had taken on his guards tooth and nail he'd heard.  "I believe you had intended to send him to boarding school.  He's just turned six?  A bit young for it, but there are several excellent schools that would take him."

Rav looked up at him and smiled, an unpleasant smile, the captain thought.  "No, I'll keep him with me.  Since Lyssa's gone, he is all the family I have left now."

Joban didn't know what prompted him to interfere.  He supposed he should be relieved this parricide had some feeling for his siblings.  "Are you sure these are the arrangements you want?  The guardianship of a young boy could easily become a burden to you.  A child with his looks, his intelligence, would be adopted immediately.  We could look for an important family on an off-world planet, to buffer the effects of the scandal on him.  He need not even know you're still alive."

"Yes, he is quite lovely, isn't he?  And intelligent is a bit of an understatement.  He's the smartest of the entire brilliant brood, and I have a genius IQ."

Joban muttered a response under his breath.

"What?"

Joban met his gaze, not bothering to conceal his antipathy.  "I supposed he was lucky you didn't pack him off to the state orphanage and lose him amongst a lot of grubby Gammas and Deltas."

Rav smiled again, blindingly, turning on the charm.  The display was odious now, in response to his own blatant disapproval.  It was a ploy Rav had dispensed with early in their dealings, but Joban remembered how appealing he'd found the young man originally, so quick, so deferential....

"My dear Captain Joban," Rav said, "now that my expectations have been so drastically reduced, I need a few days to rearrange my life in accordance with my altered possibilities.  I must establish a new abode, excetera, excetera.  In the meanwhile, there is something I'd like you to arrange for me."

"If I can."  Those were his orders.  All help within reason.  Since the Federation had chosen not to drown the vicious pup, it did not want to alienate him more than necessary.  He might prove useful again.

"It's about Kerr...."

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][] KERR [][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

He had stopped crying.  If he concentrated very hard, perhaps he wouldn't start again.  He thought about the guard at the bottom of the stairs - that made it easier.  Kerr didn't want the guard to hear him.  He didn't want anybody to hear.

He wiped his face with his sleeve.  The tears hadn't been for the memories, or for anything the boys had said, or for his sore hands or the itchy rash.  This time it was the lemony smell of the furniture polish.  This part of the orphanage was old, a once fine residence some philanthropist had donated, and there was a wooden bannister.  It wasn't carved, like the one at home, but the janitor used the same polish on it and the smell made him want to cry and cry and cry.

But he was better now.  The smell wasn't quite so strong inside the room.  The cream he'd put on the rash had stopped the itching.  The nurse had said it was psychosomatic, but he wasn't making it up.  It was that horrible soap in the showers where he had to wash with everyone.  It burned his skin.  And the linen scratched, he could feel it now, rough against his cheek.  At home the sheets had been so soft and cool.  He'd never thought about it before, of course, they were just there, like the clear, jellied soap he'd always used.  He had sensitive skin, he and Lyssa both....

Pictures kept coming into his mind, he couldn't seem to stop them.  Some were horrible, some wonderful.  Both made the tears start up again.  He'd cried after math, when he'd told the teacher he was wrong and he'd whipped Kerr's hands with the stick - as if that could change the numbers.  He'd cried because it hurt, and because he'd thought of his father bending over him, his stern face brightening with approval, the way it did when Kerr understood a difficult problem.

He'd wanted to be alone, tried to find a place to hide on the playground at recess, but the other children followed him.  They teased him for a crybaby and called him names, 'snotty Alpha' and 'filthy traitor'.  The teacher was watching, and then he just turned away.  He'd fought the children as best he could, but there were a lot of them.  They took turns hitting him.  He cried more and they teased him again, hit him again, and it seemed to hurt even more.  He felt so weak and helpless.  Finally, the guard came and pulled them away.

He hated the guard, but he was his only protection.  Later, he'd heard the guard talking to the nurse and he'd said he didn't expect to have 'this pathetic job' more than a week, that he had more important work to do than 'babysitting some turncoat's brat'.  And nurse said she supposed they'd move the kid in with the others, where he belonged.  But he didn't belong there.  He didn't belong here at all.  But there was no one left now to come and take him away.

He had promised himself he would not cry!  Not if he could help it.  It was hard, but he was learning.  There was a trick, a place inside where he could click something off.  He wasn't even sure how he did it.  Sometimes he just managed the shaky gulp - that was no good, the tears just beat at him from the inside.  Other times he clicked the tears off and felt all cool and far away.  That was best.  It was better not to care at all.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][] MATRON [][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

"Most irregular," Matron muttered as she hurried down the hall, slippers flapping at her heels.  " _Most_ irregular."  Everyone had suffered for it, the boy, the other children, the teachers and herself.  And, of course, if anything went wrong it would be she who took the blame, even if it was the Federation authorities who had created the untenable situation.

Flustered and groggy, she arrived in the lobby to find the night clerk all agog and a handsome young Alpha waiting.  So elegantly dressed too, all in cream and bronze, lovely with that pale hair.  "Kerr Avon is to be released into my custody," he informed her, and handed her an envelope with the Federation seal.

Matron drew her robe closer about her throat.  It was not even her good robe.  She'd assumed such a late call to be a medical emergency, and had grabbed what was to hand.  "Come with me, please," she said, struggling to regain a semblance of poise, and led him down the corridor toward her office.

"I hope there have been no difficulties?" the young man asked as they walked.

Difficulties?  The affair was rife with difficulties.  Relieved that the situation was not after all, a crisis, she began to enumerate them:  All the usual problems of assimilating a new child into an established group augmented by the natural jealousy the lower grade children felt toward such a striking and intelligent Alpha child.  The ominous presence of the uniformed guard - this institute was not a prison!  The child isolated at night in the infirmary, which he must certainly regard as special punishment, but which the other children viewed as preferential treatment.  It was incomprehensible to her why the Federation chose to send the boy here.  So punitive a measure against one so young and innocent, whatever the crimes of his family.  Why breed further resentment in the child when he was still young enough to be easily reassimilated within Federation culture?  If Gammas and Deltas overran the orphanage, Betas, much less Alphas, were rare prizes.  It was a waste, a cruelty and a waste.  It was high time something was done about it!

Breathless, Matron opened her office door and brought the young man inside.  She felt a moment's pride, the paneling was really most impressive.  She sat down at her desk, motioning to the chair opposite, which he took.  Then she opened the envelope and read the document he had given her.  She stared at the name on the release, stared again at the smooth, aristocratic face across from her.  No obvious familial resemblance, and any subtleties were too early to be marked in little Kerr.

"Is there a problem?

"Oh no...no problem.  It's all in order," she said, embarrassed by her lack of manners.  "I'm just confused.  You see, they told us the entire family....

"Had been executed?" he filled in her floundering pause.  "A misunderstanding.  With the exception of my uncle, our family were loyal members of the Federation.  Unfortunately, we have all had to pay for his sins.  My father and sister with their lives.  I might be dead as well, if I had been present the night of my uncle's appearance at our estate.  The troopers showed little discretion.  I was spared as I was away at school.  I would have come earlier to reclaim Kerr but, naturally, there was an interrogation process to clear me of any taint."

"Such a terrible trauma for you," Matron murmured sympathetically.  "So, there is just you and Kerr now?  Your mother...?"

"Gone.  She died in an accident when Kerr was only a few weeks old."

"Tragic."

"Yes, it was tragic.  Poor Kerr."  He leaned forward confidentially, "I've been most concerned about his reaction to his...placement...here.  Apart from all the terrible events that he witnessed, his normal life, if it could be called so, gave him no preparation to deal with this environment.  He is used to relating to adults, you see, not to other young children.  At home he was both spoiled and ignored.  There were special tutors for him - were you informed he has a genius IQ?  No?  Ah, well, he is quite brilliant.  My father gave him lessons too, occasionally, but he was always...a hard taskmaster.  My uncle often took him on outings, to the zoo and such, but he was not a desirable influence.  My sister and I indulged him, rather like some marvelous pet, but we were away at school most of the time.  I've often thought what a lonely little boy he must be, however clever, wandering about that huge house with no other children with whom to play."

Matron felt her eyes blur with tears.  Her heart was too soft for this job, she knew it, but how could she turn away and let the position be filled by someone hard-hearted and cold?

"So, I can understand that Kerr may have found adjusting to all this difficult, and caused some difficulties in return.  Still...I do feel something must be done about the incident with the teacher."

"The incident?"

"I've heard Kerr was punished by one of his teachers.  Unjustly."

She looked at him blankly for a moment, then remembered a comment.  "Yes, one of the instructors did say Kerr had been a bit of a discipline problem.  I had asked them all to make as much of an allowance as was possible, in recognition of the difficult circumstances.  Rebellious behavior is all too understandable with a child so stressed and fearful.  And one who is also, as you yourself said, a little spoiled, a bit...arrogant.  Nonetheless, discipline does have to be maintained, most especially in a facility like this, or chaos will reign."

"I'm not sure 'rebellious' is the proper word.  My information is that Kerr corrected the teacher's mathematics and had his hands switched for it - for contradicting the teacher in front of the class and, no doubt, for being right.  While it is understood that Deltas and Gammas have a lower intelligence, there is no need to undermine their already limited abilities by drumming false information into their heads.  I have the teacher's name.  I think disciplinary measures are in order, don't you?  Certainly before the next review board meets.  I don't know if such an obviously irresponsible person should be allowed to teach."

An official complaint!  She knew it would be official.  Matron looked at the name he handed her.  As she suspected, it was Morus.  She had never really _liked_ Morus, but he was so good at keeping the unruly boys in line!  She depended on his authority.  Her heart was just _too_ soft - she needed a firm hand to back it up, to keep order in the school.

"I presume the proper steps will be taken?"

She nodded, feeling bewildered and resentful.  "Yes, of course."

"Will you prepare any necessary paperwork, please, while I go to talk to Kerr?  I want to take him with me tonight.  There is a night shuttle to Capitol Dome leaving in less than two hours."

Really!  What was the point of all this hustle and bustle?  Why wake the boy when everything could be handled so much more simply in the morning?  "It would be best to let him sleep," she began.  "After all, he has been ill."

"Is it serious?" Rav asked, paling.  "Contagious?"

"No, no.  A simple rash.  Nerves.  Nightmares.  It would just be best for the child to get his rest."

"I'm afraid I feel it would be best for him to leave as soon as is possible.  He has a home now with me.  I see no reason for him to remain here a moment longer than necessary.  I am going to talk to him immediately, then I will return to sign any release forms."

Matron sighed.  Alphas were so difficult sometimes.  So overbearing.  So demanding.  Betas really accomplished more in the long run, and with less fuss.  They did the real work.  "Very well, but I should accompany you.  I think it would be wiser for me to tell him you are here before you appear.  He does not even know you are still alive."

"That's all right," he said, with a slight smile, smoothing the faultless golden cap of his hair.  "I'll break it to him gently.  Just give me directions to the infirmary.  I'm sure I can find my own way."

Matron was quite annoyed as she sat back in her chair.  Really, there was no need for such a facetious comment.  She gave him the directions then began to fill out the necessary documents.  The conversation disturbed her.  How could Kerr's brother have learned of the schoolroom incident?  It must have been far too late for him to have talked to the students when he arrived.  Certainly, he could not have had any communication with the Federation guard.  Could he?  It made no sense.  Nor, for that matter did the order in her hand, which she now noted was dated the same day as the one which committed Kerr Avon into her care.  It was all too confusing....

Well, it was not her problem any longer.  Kerr was a lucky little boy, really, to have recovered even one member of his family and to have retained his status.  She smiled to herself, pleased that there would be a happy outcome to this story.  He was a special child, if a bit difficult.  She trusted he would be properly grateful to his brother, his rescuer, appearing again like an angel of mercy.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][] KERR [][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Someone was in the room, touching him in the dark.  He sat bolt upright, drawing into the corner.

"Kerr," a voice whispered in the darkness, "I didn't mean to wake you.  I just wanted to make sure you were all right."  The bed creaked and the tiny night light on the table flicked on, revealing the impossible.  "You're all disheveled, Kerr.  Why do you look so frightened of me?"  He gave a soft gasp of dismay, "Did you think I was dead?"

Kerr nodded silently, staring at his brother, his hear still pounding.  Then relief came, rushing over the fear.  Rav was alive!  He closed his eyes, swallowed hard, opened them again.  "Father's dead," Kerr said.  "Lyssa too."

He wanted Rav to know he knew, so Rav wouldn't have to say it.  He wanted Rav to know he was being brave.  Rav had never liked crybabies either, though sometimes he liked to tease and tease until you felt like crying.  But now Rav put his arms around him, held him close.

"I know."

The hands moved up and down his back, pressing him closer.  He held on tight for a moment, but the caressing touch, the warmth of Rav's body against his made him feel like crying again, and he pulled away.  "You had a fight with father," he said.

Rav stiffened.  "Yes, I did.  Do you know what about, Kerr?"

"No, nobody told me.  But father was angry all the time.  We couldn't even say your name."

"Yes, we were angry with each other.  It was important then, but it's not important at all now," Rav said.  "Can you imagine what it feels like, Kerr, knowing he died angry with me?  Knowing I can't ever tell him I was sorry?"

Kerr nodded solemnly.

"Your eyes are just like Lyssa's," Rav said softly.  "And your hair."

"Dark, like mother," he answered, though he did not remember her, of course.  There were just the holos.

"Was Lyssa angry too?" Rav asked.

He shook his head.  Lyssa would never be angry with Rav.  "She just cried a lot."

"Well there's nothing I can do about it now.  Lyssa's gone, and father's gone.  We're all that's left now, Kerr.  We'll have to take care of each other...if they let us be together."

The words gave Kerr a cold sinking feeling in his stomach.. He stared at Rav, but his brother just looked around the little room and sighed.  "This place is so ugly.  You must be lonely up here.  Wouldn't you rather be with the other children?"

"No!  They're all mean, mean and stupid.  Everyone.  Even the teachers.  I don't want to stay here!"

Rav looked distressed.  "I can't make any promises, Kerr, but I'm doing all I can to get you out of this place."

"Can we go home?"  It was too much to hope for, but he hadn't dared hope Rav was alive.

"No," Rav said, his eyes narrowing.  "We can't go home, ever again.  They took that away from us."

"I thought we were rich, Rav.  Father said if you're rich enough, no one can hurt you."

"We weren't quite rich enough, Kerr.  You have to be very, very rich indeed, or someone will take everything you have.  They say we're rebels, you see, and they can take anything they want and punish us too."

"Father wasn't a rebel.  Uncle Kerr was a rebel.  Father didn't like what Uncle Kerr did."

"That's true.  But father loved Uncle Kerr."  He smiled, "You have to be careful who you love."

Kerr was going to say that everybody loved their uncle, everybody who knew him.  But Rav never had.  And he wasn't going to love Uncle Kerr anymore either.  Only it was very hard to stop loving someone.  "It was all his fault."

"Uncle Kerr's fault?  Was it?  Do you know that for certain?"

"Yes."

"I suppose you're right.  None of this would ever have happened if Uncle Kerr hadn't been a rebel."

Kerr remembered the bear hug, Uncle Kerr's voice, soft and earnest, the glitter of the medallion.  He didn't have the gold medallion anymore, someone had taken it.  It was better that way.  He should have thrown it away.  "I don't want to be called Kerr anymore," he told Rav.

"No?" Rav ruffled his hair.  "Well, we're Alphas, you and I.  Alpha men call each other by their last names, unless they are very, very close.  We are already close, so you can call me Rav, as always, but I will call you Avon, if you like.  You're old enough, I think.  Don't you?"

"Yes.  Yes, I am."

"Well, Avon, do you want to come live with me?  You'd have your own room in a big apartment.  You won't be rich anymore, but I'll make sure you go to the best school in the city, no matter what it costs."

"Yes, oh yes," he whispered.  "Tonight?  Now?"

"No, not tonight, I don't see how it could be tonight.  But soon.  Tomorrow, maybe, or the day after.  A week at the most."

"Could you ask?  I don't think they want me here."

"No?"

He shook his head.  "Please."

"Perhaps they will let you come with me, if I go about it just right."  He cupped Avon's face in his hands, staring down at him.  No one had ever looked at him quite like that.  It made him want to squirm.  "Do you love me, Avon?"

Avon bit his lip.  He didn't know why it was so hard to answer.  He must love Rav.  Rav was his brother.  Rav was special, like a present, he only appeared at holidays and vacations.  He was clever and full of mischief, full of secrets.  Avon loved secrets.  Rav could get away with anything....

"Too big a word, little Avon?  You haven't seen that much of me, after all.  Well, maybe I can teach you to love me."

Rav kissed him.  No one had ever kissed him quite like that either.  His sister, once, when she had dressed him up for the party, sliding a shirt of silver mail on him.  It had been so cool and shiny.  'You can be my silver knight,' she teased.  'You always call Rav your silver knight.'  He knew Lyssa loved Rav best, they were always sneaking off together.  Lyssa smiled, but it was such a sad smile that Avon was afraid he'd made her cry again.  'A lady can have many knights,' she said softly, 'but you can be my magician.  That's even better.  There's only one magician at court - mysterious and powerful.'  She had kissed him then, a kiss like this...a little...a kiss all soft and moist.  It made him tingle.

His eyes were closed.  He opened them to see Rav looking at him expectantly, as if he'd be disappointed....  He could not bear it if Rav went away and left him again.  Avon threw his arms around Rav's neck and kissed him again.  "Take me with you," he begged.

"All right, Avon, all right.  I'll see what I can do."

Avon hugged him tighter.

"You really are quite perfect, little Avon," Rav whispered, breath warm against his ear.  "All innocence and instinct."

Avon frowned and pulled away so he could see Rav.  "Instinct?  That's something animals have."

"People are animals too.  You know that, don't you?"

"Mammals," Avon nodded, though it wasn't the same thing at all.  People were of a higher order of intelligence.

"So, people have instincts too.  Following your instinct is a way of being very wise, very clever, without thinking at all."

Avon supposed it was a compliment, but he wasn't sure.  He did like being clever, but part of being clever was knowing you were.

"Avon, if I can take you away from here now, tonight, you must promise not to cause any trouble, to mind me...."

"I promise.  I won't be any trouble at all.  I'll be good.  I'll be very, very good."

"Well," Rav smiled and pulled him close, his hands soothing, stroking all up and down his back, his legs.  "You needn't be so good as all that."

 


End file.
